The Twilight Kingdom

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Felicity was sleeping when she heard the sounds of the party.

She shouldn’t have been asleep, but she’d played Treasure Hunt most of the night, finally reaching the golden locker after a long delay. That beautiful game ending, combined with an early class to teach, meant that all her time to complete a chapter of her dissertation had vanished. So, in spite of her body crying out for a bed, necessity kept her on-campus. A deadline kept her fixated to her computer, in Microsoft word, rather than the online forums for her game that she normally frequented.

But there was only so much she could do to keep her eyes open.

Felicity resisted the idea of napping—at first. While everyone else in her PhD program may have proselytized about the benefits of a quick “coffee nap” in order to write long and winding passages about Proust or Shakespeare or someone else Felicity could care less about—that was not Felicity. She was not in graduate school for the old dead white men. She was here for video games and fanfiction about these video games—in other words, what her professors dubbed ‘New Media.’ That was what her supervisor, Louis Abernathy, called it and what the books on her office shelf declared as well. It didn’t really matter to her what it was called, as long as it meant she had an office—cramped, but still her own—and a stipend to afford an apartment with an internet connection. She wasn’t in graduate school to become a professional, or to dress-up her skills in a new language with which to market herself, because really, Felicity knew she had no skills.

Including napping. She hated naps. Why would anyone want to wake up hours later, completely disoriented, and then not be able to sleep much later?

In spite of her protests, the cement walls became a soporific. She dozed off in no time. And now, Felicity thought, still groggy from her spontaneous nap, I’m being awoken by the sirens.

She startled at her desk as she heard a cascade of noises and cheering, all of it sounding like a party she was never invited to.

Felicity rose from her desk and walked into the hall. She’d fallen asleep on a pen and was sure ink marked her face. The cheering voices blurred, then came into sharper focus as she got closer to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The English Department building had terrible acoustics; each hallway seemed to come to a sudden stop with a bathroom in a corner, and the door to the stairwell or another set of offices hidden behind a sharp corner. The building had been built in the 1960s, her supervisor Louis had told her when she’d been late her first meeting, and the Dean of Arts wanted to cut down on protests. “So they built a labyrinth and sent the students in to fight the Minotaur of student loans,” he added with a final laugh, pushing his glasses up his nose as he did. Felicity thought of Louis now as she wandered past a conference room with its door closed. She swore she could hear his laugh on the other side.

Before she could reminisce anymore, the door to the conference room burst open. Louis walked out wearing more formal attire; his typical red collared shirt was now tucked into his slacks and his long grey hair was combed back in a neat ponytail, rather than hanging loosely at his side. He clapped his hand on the back of another person, a younger guy in a suit jacket with red cheeks. Felicity knew the younger person in passing. She was sure he was another graduate student, someone whom she’d see in the mail room, but avoided eye contact with. He smiled wide, revealing red lips that seemed as if they’d been chewed on nervously, and let out a ragged breath as another professor slapped him on the back. His thin frame shuddered under the approving weight.

“Congrats, my good doctor,” Louis said. “How does that feel?”

“Surreal. I…”

“Oh, hi Felicity,” Louis said when he noticed her in the hallway. “Have you come to celebrate?”

“Oh. Um. No. I just…”

Felicity barely had time to gesture to the bathroom before Libby, another grad student whom she’d once shared a class and a final project with, spilled out of the conference room. She was one of another succession of people, a seemingly never-ending line-up of witnesses to this dissertation defense. One of the office administrators was the last out. She held a form with the school’s logo at the top, and a clear checkmark through the category of Passed.

Then everything fell into place for Felicity.

A dissertation defense—a successful defense—meant that there would be celebration. Perhaps not a party in the traditional sense, but a cause for drinking, nonetheless. She knew the younger person’s name now: Denis Stone. She’d seen his defense announcement on the doors of the mail room and in other corners of the English Department’s hallway. The Display Period, as it was called, often lasted for upwards of six weeks so those who wished to witness the ceremony could book off an afternoon to do so.

Apparently, a lot were curious to see Denis’s take on Shakespeare and Film Adaptation.

And now, he was successful. He was a doctor.

Felicity wasn’t close to this stage of her research—or this close to Denis—but it was hard not to be so moved. Her heart panged. She knew almost no one here but Libby, and yet, she wanted to be part of this. She wanted to raise a drink and celebrate.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I should work. I have that chapter I said I’d give to you by the end of the day.”

“What?” Louis said. He furrowed his brow in sudden recognition. “Well, take an extension. I’ve been swapped with organizing this defense, so I need a rest myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” When Felicity still seemed sceptical, he went on. “While I admire your ability to come here on a Friday and get to work, you should also rest. Come with us.”

Felicity wanted to say that she had been resting. According to the clock plastered just outside the conference room wall, it was past four in the afternoon. Two hours had disappeared in spontaneous sleep—and for what, really? The most she was able to do today was to write out an exit strategy for one of her video game avatars, and brainstorm fanfiction for their love interest. That was not work, even if some of the scholars she’d research considered it participatory ethnography, or something else altogether.

So she may as well go to a party.

The chance to disagree was washed away by more chatter and noise. Denis was hugging someone tightly. The woman looked familiar, too, like she had been one of the many people who’d helped Felicity find books in the library. There were so many people on campus, so many of them that disappeared and reappeared, either from sickness or maternity leave or those like Denis who now could get on with life outside of academia’s walls, that it was sometimes hard to keep track of all the new people and old.

“Come,” Libby said. She was by Felicity’s side now. She was a strong presence, forceful in a calm manner, one that reminded Felicity of her mother’s ability to clear a room with a subtle shift in tone of her voice. Felicity’s mother had made so many men leave her bar that way; a shout for the last call that was really the last. Her mother’s command didn’t work on Felicity’s father, but that was another story Felicity didn’t like to think about.

“Come,” Libby said again, this time more playfully. “We’re apparently all going to go to The Renaissance Faire.”

“Wait. What?” Felicity asked, meeting Libby’s stare. “Are you serious?”

“I am. But I don’t think they are.”

“Wait. What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just seems a little silly. But yes, the Renaissance Faire,” Libby said with a smile. Her lips were painted in a dark hue. Her bangs were dyed black and cut starkly across her forehead, making her normally pale skin seem that much paler. When she smiled, her stained teeth broke the illusion of a fairy tale princess. Felicity knew those kinds of teeth; they were marked by stomach acid and nicotine. “Apparently the faire’s in town for the long, Victoria Day weekend. And it’s perfect for Denis’s defense, since he did Shakespeare, and its about the same time period. Plus, there’s Macbeth.”

“What about Macbeth?”

Libby laughed. “C’mon. You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Everyone knows Macbeth. The Scottish play.” Libby lifted her brows as if to say no-duh. “Anyway,” Libby went on when Felicity showed no signs of comprehension. “There are three witches in that play. Double-double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. There might be some witches and psychics and other such mischief at the faire, according to Denis, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

Libby nodded and then crossed her arms over her chest. “But I admit, I was surprised. I figured most grad students were above this kind of thing, you know? We can’t surely play along with stuff like that. We’re professionals—Denis is now the consummate professional. A doctor. But apparently dress-up is good for the soul.” Libby stared at Denis’s girlfriend as she said the words, clearly marking her as the instigator of the adventure. The two of them were engaged in hushed discussions with the round of professors at the defense, completely unaware of Libby’s remarks. “Who knows, though? Maybe we’ll all get readings from a spooky witch that will let us know who will get tenure in the future and who will become the court fool. Or recluse.”

Felicity felt the word recluse like a weight. Her undergrad had been spent alone in her dorm room, constantly online. She’d been engaging with people there—but to her roommates, a bunch of girls getting their English Degree so they could be high school teachers, she was anathema. She was Felicity the recluse, hermit, hobo, weirdo. She’d been left out.

“I want to come,” Felicity said. “It sounds like fun.”

“You do?” Libby chuckled. “I’m glad I can be persuasive. Hopefully, my defense will be this successful, then.”

“Sure. Just let me, you know…” Felicity gestured to the bathroom.

“Oh, sure. No problem. I’ll make sure we don’t leave without you.”

Felicity nodded and tried to ignore the off-key tone in Libby’s voice. She was going. She was included. There was nothing to worry about. And while, no one in the group had told Felicity she had pen on her face, she wanted to be sure her hair wasn’t too bad from her impromptu nap.

Felicity was only in the bathroom for a few seconds before she smelled it: acid. Vomit. Then a mixture of mint from mouthwash in the sink. The smells were familiar in a way that made her own stomach churn, and she did not wish to linger. She examined her face quickly—no pen, part a bit frizzy but easy to fix—and then she let out a sigh. The mirror seemed to shake as she did. She touched its cheap silver lining. She pressed her finger against the glass to see if it was two-way. She held her breath as she did so, remembering a whole bunch of online articles from another university that had cameras hidden behind mirrors for a peeping tom professor.

There was nothing, though. Just one way glass. A mirror. Ordinary.

She was almost disappointed.

“You ready to go?” Libby asked when Felicity stepped out of the bathroom. Felicity nodded. Libby was the only one in the hallway now, but gestured to the other side of the hallway, where Denis’s office was located.

“Good. I managed to snag us a ride with the king and queen of the PhD—or at least, that’s what Denis and Marla are insisting on being called. They even have costumes and everything for the faire. They’re…nothing if not devoted.”

Before Felicity could say anything, Denis stepped out of his office. He wore a deep red robe with an ornate crown on his head, complete with fake jewels lining the outside. He held a sceptre in one hand, and then extended the other for his girlfriend Marla to take. She stepped out wearing a similar red cape, but her crown was smaller. It was covered in white and yellow jewels, made iridescent under the florescent light of the hallway. The two of them linked arms and stepped in time as they walked down the hallway, their chins up.

“My students,” Denis said. “Are you ready to embark on our adventure? Aboard our chariot?”

Libby and Felicity both burst out laughing as they nodded. While Libby’s laughter was haughty and self-righteous, Felicity’s was nothing but joy, pure and utter joy.

“Oh, this is going to be a scream.”